


Something To Do

by TheUnassumingDoctor



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry John, Crack, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock Cooking, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock is bored, Sneaky John, he fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:02:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3021314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnassumingDoctor/pseuds/TheUnassumingDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets bored while John is at work and decided to entertain himself. This doesn't end well (but then again when does it ever)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something To Do

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! This is not beta-ed or Brit-picked so all the mistakes are mine. Enjoy the short!

John had a long day at work. It seemed like every child in the country had come down with the flu and decided to torture him with their illnesses. He had been thrown up on four times, coughed on seven, and sneezed on a whopping total of thirteen times. So, when he finally got home, he was looking forward to a nice hot bath and a night in front of the telly with Sherlock. However, when he opened the door to the flat, the tall lanky detective was nowhere to be seen.  
O~O~O  
Sherlock was bored. He had spent the entire day rummaging through the flat looking for something to do. He had tried an experiment, but his mind was racing too much for something so simple. Sherlock flipped through every one of his books on the shelf before he dug through John’s books. He searched his blog for new cases. After a while he gave up and hacked into John’s far more popular blog to see if there was anything new. There wasn’t.

Growing more and more bored, Sherlock decided to make lunch. His transport has started to rumble and he didn’t have a case on so it wouldn’t hurt anything. Wandering into the kitchen, he began to pull the drawers out and whipping open cabinets. When every storage compartment was open, he spun in circles looking for something edible. The only thing in the fridge was three hands and a knee cap. He couldn’t eat those without ruining his experiment on decomposition. Sherlock also noted that John might not be too happy about him consuming human remains. (Really? Just once, John! Just to try it?) He decided to try one of the cans of soup John seemed so fond of. Pulling all of the cans out he began reading each label determining the best flavor to ingest. Split pea? French Onion? Black Bean Soup? Clam Chowder? Does he have any normal soup? Finally, in the very back, he found a can of simple tomato soup. Satisfied with his choice, Sherlock moved on to the next step: finding a pot to cook it in. 

Once again his keen eyes scanned the kitchen for the appliance. Catching sight of the pot, he scooped it up and tossed it on the stove. Next his eyes roamed for the can opener. He looked and looked but he never could find it. Giving up, he stalked off to the living room for the knife that held the bills to the mantel on the fire place. Wrenching it free, Sherlock brought it to the kitchen. Holding the can in one hand and the knife in the other, He stabbed the lid of the can. His goal was to make a big enough hole for the thick liquid to seep through. The first stab made a dent so he assumed he was on the right track. The second stab made a small hole. The third stab made another hole, however, this one was in his hand. Rushing to the sink, Sherlock held his hand under running water until the bleeding stopped. Cleaning off the knife, he glared at the can of soup with his sharp blue eyes. Returning to the offending can he prepared for a final stab, after all he was already injured might as well finish the job. The fourth stab worked leaving a gaping hole for his soup to flow out of. Satisfied, Sherlock dumped the troublesome soup into the pot and turned to stove on high. 

As he waited for his meal to cook, he returned to the living room and turned on the telly. Flipping from channel to channel, Sherlock found absolutely nothing worth watching. He doesn’t know how John could stand to watch it. Giving up on the telly, he wandered over to the window and pulled out his violin.  
Letting his mind drift away, Sherlock played all of his favorites and then all of John’s. He was halfway through Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake when he heard it. A loud pop broke his concentration. Spinning around, his gaze met the kitchen. The walls were now painted a bright red and his pot of tomato soup was now nonexistent. Smoke started to rise from the burner that was currently roasting the spilled lunch. Grabbing the fire extinguisher, Sherlock sprayed the entire kitchen with white foam. When the smoke ceased to rise, he set the empty extinguisher down. 

“I guess I’m not going to have lunch today.”

Giving up on his lunch, Sherlock decided to head down to Scotland Yard. Lestrade might have a case for him and if not he can at least walk around and tell everyone else what they are doing wrong. If he annoys Lestrade enough he might even get a box of cold cases to solve. Stripping of his soup-covered pajamas he headed to the shower. 

O~O~O  
John walked into Scotland Yard and hour later in search of his Detective. Before he could locate him, however, he ran into Lestrade. 

“Please take him. He has terrorized everyone in the office.” The DI exclaimed

“Don’t worry he will be coming back with me and won’t be leaving Baker Street for a while.” John said with a sly smile. 

Lestrade just chuckled and gestured towards his office. “He is in there.”

As if Sherlock sensed John had arrived (John wouldn’t be surprised if he could) the detective poked his head out of the room with a “John!” ringing from his voice. 

“Come here Sherlock.” When Sherlock got close John grabbed his collar and pulled him into a breathless kiss. With a low voice John asked “Do you know what you are going to do when we get home?” 

“Hmm, tell me John. What am I going to do?” Sherlock replies with a deep breathless voice. His eyes were bright. He could think of quite a few things they were going to try tonight.

Pushing his detective back, John looked him in the eyes. “You are going home and cleaning the fucking flat.” John’s hidden anger surged forth and seeped out into his reply. “I can’t believe you did that! I can handle the papers and books left all over the floor. That’s not what make me so angry. All I wanted was a nice cup of tea and do you know what I found when I went into the kitchen?”

The Great Detective looked down at his feet, afraid to meet John’s eyes. “A mess” he mumbled.

“Sorry I didn’t catch that. Want to run that by me again?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

“I said a mess.” He said a tiny bit louder, still not looking up from the floor.

“Yes, Sherlock, a mess. The entire kitchen covered in red soup. And not just the walls, because you decided to leave every cabinet and drawer open so now all the clean dished are covered in soup.” John was practically yelling now. “And then on top of the soup everywhere, you managed to start it on fire. The entire flat smells like smoke!”

Sherlock was smart enough to realize that saying anything at this point would result in the Doctor leaving for good, so he remained silent. He would clean the flat until it sparkled. He would make it up to John anyway he can. 

Grabbing the back of Sherlock’s coat, John dragged the mess-maker out of Scotland Yard and into a cab.

Lestrade and the other members of The Yard stared in shock. Never once had they ever heard the Good Doctor raise his voice. Even when Sherlock was being a right jerk to him. Judging by his description of the mess, they couldn’t really blame him. Lestrade chuckled at John’s words when he first walked in: “He won’t be leaving Baker Street for a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to read your comments and suggestions. I would never say no to a Kudos either:)


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